


Wading Deep Waters

by tjnstlouismo



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Language, M/M, Original Character Death(s), References to Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjnstlouismo/pseuds/tjnstlouismo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First posted to FF and moved here.
> 
> Everything belongs to Hamlet Machine. 
> 
> Nods to Elisetales, ASocialContruct and A2Mom, and a thank you to the Starfighter fandom for comments and support.

Cain didn't go to the memorials. In the drunken, cigarette hazed days after the last battle he saw no point in mourning the dead. Instead, he lay on their little bed, in their little closet of a room and filled every part of it with ash and smoke. A bottle of vodka was his companion, cartons of cigarettes were his comfort and his hand was his sex. Over and over again until he was raw he pumped his cock and left his cum where it landed, on the sheets, on his stomach, on the walls where it ran down in slimy trails.

Sometimes he thought he heard breathing, thought he felt bony knees up against his ass and he would wake startled at the sensation and turn over, hopeful. But the pillow was empty; he was alone in their little bed. Ethan slept in a box, in a grave, on Earth, in the national cemetery with a stone pillow. "Beloved Son and Brother" it read, Cain was sure. Beloved son. His name would never be etched beside Ethan's. Ethan never knew his name. Ethan never knew he was beloved.

He dreamed every time he slept and his dreams were always the same. The final battle. The screaming and cursing over the radio as men died, as lovers were forever separated. The wounded crying for their mothers. Cain didn't find it as satisfying as he thought it would be when Praxis's ship was hit and he screamed in his last seconds before his ship fell.

Breaking their stunned silence, Abel had called out "Praxis! Praxis hold on, we'll..." Cain had screamed over him, cutting him off. "There's nothing left of that bastard to save, princess; concentrate on keeping us fucking alive!" He had expected protest but Abel had been silent after that.

He had heard the shot before the alarms had screamed at them. His mask fell and his helmet filled with oxygen. The Reliant had shaken in a great heaving shudder and then skittered off out of formation, in free fall. "Ethan!" he called out, saying his name for the first time. There was no answer. He had known there would be no answer.

For what seemed a very long time the Reliant drifted. Cain had watched the black space, as the ship rolled end over end towards the stars. He could still see some of the ships going down in flames as well as the Colteron's turning tail and trying to run away. The fighter/navie teams which still functioned continued to chase them, hunting them down, one by one. It had seemed all so very far away as he drifted along. It was the breaking of the silence when the radio squawked that had startled him alert. "Reliant, get control and return to base! You are still online. What the fuck are you doing Cain?"

Bering. What the fuck was Bering doing telling him to return to base?

"Sasha, do you hear me? That's an order, son, get your fucking gypsy ass back here!"

Bering. The same man who had humiliated him and used him like a whore at Basic. The same man who never missed a chance to remind him of that. The same man who partnered him with Abel.

Now it was Bering's voice demanding he come back. Cain remembered ignoring him, and the Reliant just drifting for what seemed hours, towards the stars. He had wanted a cigarette. He had thought about just letting the ship drift. There were stars out there. He and Ethan could have just stayed out there, forever. But in the end he needed a smoke, so he had decided he would come back, if he still could. He had released the buckles on the straps that held him down. He remembered shaking off the fog in his head before he had crawled to the back of the ship, towards Abel.

Cain couldn't remember if it was the dream or if Abel had really stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise. He saw that the navigator's controls were covered with Abel's blood shot out from his chest, when his heart had exploded. There were clots across the navigation screens and dark ruby lines down the front of his suit. His eyelids were wide open, frozen in death. Cain remembered reaching up to close them but Ethan's eyelids would only go part of the way down. He looked like he did in the still dark morning when he had been warm from the covers and pliant with Cain's cock up his ass. Cain had reached under him to cradle him in his arms, but had been surprised that he was so heavy. It had felt like his body was weighted down and Cain had trouble lifting him out of the cockpit and setting him down gently, behind the navigator seat. On impulse Cain had pressed his lips to Abel's forehead but he had seemed so very cold even after just a few minutes. Or had it been hours? Cain remembered things happening in slow motion, as if time was pausing until he figured out what he had to do. He had set Ethan's body down, out of the way, out of his sight.

When he lowered himself into Abel's chair and had reached forward to touch the screen in front of him, he recalled musing for a moment on how the screen looked painted with broad strokes, like a child's first painting. The blood, Abel's blood, no, Ethan's blood, had dried. In the dream, Cain touched the screen and the shiny ruby splatter had shattered into millions of little sharp-edged jewels. Cain had tried not to think about it but he couldn't chase his thoughts away and had thought to himself, what difference did it make now? What fucking difference did it make now?

Cain had tried to breathe a little slower, he was aware he was using up his oxygen too fast and his head was swimming for it. He knew he would need to hold out if he was going back. He had looked out to the stars again and recalled being surprised to see the Sleipnir from the Navigators window. He had looked down at the navigation screen covered with the dust of Ethan, the fine crystals that were once hot liquid that had pumped through his veins. Ethan's blood had once blossomed at the surface of his throat, the inside of his elbow and on the soft velvet of his inner thigh when Cain put his lips and teeth to them. Cain had opened a zipper on his flight suit and had gently swept the dried blood into a pile and then brushed it into the little pouch. He remembered thinking when this was over, that would be all he had left and he had wanted it. He wanted to keep it close to his heart.

"Reliant, we have you in our sight! Do you need assistance?"

"Fuck no!" he had snarled at the voice in the cockpit.

"Then come on in header I9alpha! Medics on standby for your return!"

Cain remembered turning his head to look at the small body behind him and then turning back to the controls.

"Tell them to fucking go help someone else. They can't help anybody here." he had demanded coldly, calmly turning back to the instrument panel. "Just have the fucking body bag ready."

He never looked back again as the Reliant had wobbled into the dock. When he had jumped down from ship, when it finally came to rest, he had pulled off his helmet and flung it away from him. It skittered across the deck and slammed into a wall. He had stomped to his quarters, cursing in colony Russian under his breath, shutting up anyone who tried to intercept him, with a menacing look and a "get the fuck away from me!" He had slammed the button on the wall next to their door and fell into the tiny space landing on his knees.

He remembered not being able to catch his breath, panting so violently his throat and chest felt like they were on fire. His head had been pounding, as if he had been on a three day binge. He had knelt there, slumped over, his head hanging down lower and lower until he had toppled over, laying there until what he thought must have been the end of time. He thought he had felt warm pressure at the back of his neck and gentle fingers easing out his stress but when he opened his eyes, the room had been empty save for him.

He didn't go to the memorials. He didn't give a fuck about any of them. Certainly not Praxis. He figured Praxis had bought his ticket home months ago and it was just Nature bringing him to task for sliding by the first time. Not the fighters he had bruised his knuckles on and not those he had fucked in basic. Not even Deimos. Instead, he celebrated his survival by drowning in a contraband bottle of the good stuff and every cigarette he could get his hands on.

His little mouse was now part of vast constellations of stars out there. There wasn't anything of Deimos or his navie left after their ship exploded in a huge fire-ball. With no one to mourn him back home on the colonies, what the fuck did it matter? Cain raised his bottle and missed his mouth spilling the contents down the front of him, so he sucked the vodka out of his filthy shirt. The only one that cared whether Deimos lived or died was Cain, and that was certainly fucked up. Cain wiped his face with the cum covered sheet, almost losing his control.

"Fuck you too, myshonok, I'm not bawling over your whore's ass." Throwing back the rest of the vodka, Cain crawled into the filthy bed and pulled the coverlet over his head. It was so empty here in this little room, in this little bed. Tomorrow he would make them move him; there were plenty of rooms emptied by the blast cannons of the Teron's. He just needed to get a different space. Cain slept until he was violently forced awake as all the vodka came back up, burning his throat and his nose as he vomited it out. He wiped the mess away with the coverlet, slammed the door switch to slide open the door and threw the stinking putrid thing out into the hall. It's not like the ghosts cared.

The next morning he got himself down to the mess. Eerily quiet, those who were left almost whispered, as if every moment was a funeral dirge. He got himself a cup of coffee and bowl of oatmeal that turned his stomach the moment he tried to put a spoonful to his lips. Throwing the spoon into the bowl with a clang, he pushed it across the table and concentrated on sucking down the coffee. At least it was hot. He wanted a cigarette and was about to pull one out, no longer giving a rat's ass about rules, when Bering slid into the seat next to him and put his hand on Cain's shoulder.

Cain hissed at him as he shook off Bering's hand. Bering just pulled it back and shook his head. "I can't tell you how..."

"Fuck off. Don't you fucking say it. Just fuck off. Don't you fucking touch me."

Cain kept his eyes steadily forward, blowing across his coffee, not looking at Bering, not looking anywhere but the space over the top of his cup.

"They are taking James off life support this morning; I thought you would want to know." Bering leaned a little closer so that other ears in the mess would not hear.

"Why the fuck would I care if that bastard lives or dies? Did you want me to say goodbye sweetheart, and weep over him like he gave a fucking crap about me? You were there, asshole, you know I'm nothing but a fucking gypsy whore to him." Bering pushed himself up and looked down at Cain, who was sweating and shaking, livid in his anger. Anger was Cain's safe place; anger meant he didn't have to feel anything. Certainly not the feelings that he feared would cut his gut to ribbons.

"Have it your way, Sasha, but I wanted you to know."

Cain jumped to his feet and threw his cup across the room, the coffee spraying out in a wide arc of hot brown liquid. Bering stood his ground when Cain got into his face menacing, his voice shaking "You fucking son of a bitch, don't you fucking use my name or I swear I'll kill you. I don't care what the fuck you do with that bastard, it has nothing to do with me. I was just something he wiped his cock on. Let him die, who the fuck cares?"

Cain threw several chairs across the room as he stormed out, almost running towards his quarters, slamming the room latch and barely making it the head where the coffee and everything else left from the last night came up until he thought he would surely rupture something. Sliding down the wall, he curled up on a dirty towel, eventually slept and dreamed of silence and frozen eyes.

He didn't go to Encke's memorial either, he didn't say goodbye. He had nothing to say to James or to send to his aunt who would bury James in a plot next to his mother and father. She would put a little flag on it every Memorial Day until the day she died but it was nothing to Cain. Cain no longer had any words; his world no longer had a language he could understand.

When he got sick of Abel haunting him, he demanded different quarters, there were plenty empty now. They moved his clothes and his smokes and his bottles into a room on an upper deck, what used to be officers quarters. Big enough to have a place to sit and gaze out a small porthole into the vast darkness of space and even a small table and chairs to eat at. Cain assumed his new quarters had belonged to some officer who was lying in some plot in some cemetery on Earth, his life gathered up in a box and sent to his family to remind them that their son, their father, their husband, their lover was never, ever, fucking coming back. If he drank enough he could sleep now.

He was grateful they let him move; Ethan's ghost was driving him insane, breathing in the little room, touching him, whispering in his ear.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he was able to sleep for a few hours, he found that he was hungry. Once he was able to keep some food down, he started feeling a little stronger. Once he was feeling a little stronger, he was able to spend some time in the gym using the punching bag. Once he was able to punch the bag until his knuckles bled, he began to feel like he might not swallow the razor blade that he had carefully hidden in the little bag with what he had left of Ethan.

The infirmary emptied out and the dead sent back to their families, but there was no getting back to normal aboard the Sleipnir. Normal was never coming back.

They debriefed until the battle played behind Cain's eyelids every time he closed them. They were forced to go over it so many times that it became simply a training exercise. The remaining starfighters expected to move on to the next phase of the war. Mother declared that the Colteron's forces had been severely damaged and for now, they had backed off to lick their wounds. Starfighter teams began to leave the Sleipnir returning to their own ships to regroup and mourn their dead. Commanders Bering and Cook had ordered their squadron to wait for the rendezvous of new Academy graduate's shipped to the Sleipnir so that those like Cain who had lost their navigator could be teamed up again. Cain wasn't sure he was up to another green ass virgin.

In the early morning before he had to report to duty Cain found himself sitting in the mess, chain smoking and drinking hot coffee that burned the roof of his mouth. He sat for a long time staring at the remaining crew, the food on his plate, and at nothing at all. He hadn't been able to go down to the bay and check on his ship, the Reliant. For weeks it waited for him, repaired and shiny clean, no sign that the only goodness he had ever had a chance at in his short miserable life had ended in it.

Finally, the day came when Cain found himself standing in the hangar doorway just looking at his ship, wondering if Abel was going to haunt him there too. He set his jaw, took a deep breath and walked the length of the deck. Other crews working nearby stopped to watch him with wary eyes. There was an uneasy hush over the bay until he reached his ship. Cain just stood at the nose of the Reliant for a moment and then reached out a hand to caress it with his fingertips.

He picked up a clipboard and started to circle the ship. Those nearby breathed again, hesitantly went back to their business, one eye on their work and one eye on Cain. Orders had come down to give Cain a wide berth. Commander Bering had made it quite clear that the Reliant fighter was to be handled with kid gloves. Tensions in the bay eased when Cain threw open the Reliant's hatch and eased himself down into the fighter's cockpit. Cain forced himself to run through his checklist, but couldn't wait to get away from the spaceship. He wanted to run all the way back to his quarters and finish the bottle he had left on the table but hadn't touched for a week or so. The Reliant had been cleaned of Ethan's remains but his smell was all over it. Cain wanted to shower until his skin came off.

Every day he did a little more, forcing himself to go through the paces, as if nothing had happened. Like he would just go on living his life. As if Ethan was just a sad dream that he had when he drank too much. Cain was in a hurry to forget the softness of Abel's hair on his shoulder when he had laid his head there, and the bony sharpness of his hip bones that Cain ground his own into when they fucked.

It was at dinner that Cain first noticed the Lead Navigator that used to belong to Encke. When there was an Encke. He remembered Abel chattering, happily smitten, with Lt. Keeler and the long blond braid hanging down his back. At the time, he just smirked at Abel's schoolgirl crush for his superior and taunted him by calling them lesbo's.

He got up from the table; leaving his food uneaten, stalked to the gym and pounded out the memory until his blood seeped out from under his gloves. Exhausted, when he got back in the room he pulled out his best bottle and drank himself into a fitful sleep, full of silences and frozen eyes.

The next morning, hung over, Cain tried to push past the protesting Admin who bravely stood between Commander Bering's office door and Cain. Cain glared down his nose with hostile intent at the smaller clerk, who thought better of it and stood aside to let Cain pass. Cain smirked at him, bumping him with his shoulder as he bullied his way into Bering's office. Without invitation, Cain dropped into one of the chairs in front of Bering's desk. Bering stood and waved his worried assistant away. Arrogantly, Cain leaned back in the chair, one leg slung over an arm. Bering sat and leaned back as well. His face remained blank as he studied Cain. While he wasn't concerned that Sasha would try to harm him, he was wary of the man sitting in front of him, unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Cain put on a good front but Bering knew it was all bravado. He thought he had seen the worst of Sasha when James who became Encke threw him away in Basic, but this behavior was something different. Cain had wrapped himself around the white-hot pain of grief, protecting it, nurturing it. Bering no longer knew what the broken dangerous man before him was capable of.

"What do you want Sasha?" he demanded, pulling out his lighter and leaning forward, offering it.

"Don't fucking call me that!" Cain snarled while he leaned his body forward, moving the cigarette to the middle of his lips. Bering snorted but sparked the lighter, leaning a little forward meeting Sasha in the middle of his desk, offering the flame. "Tch", muttered Cain as he grabbed Bering's hand and held it steady, lighting his cigarette and then collapsing back down into the chair.

"Alright, Cain then, what do you want?"

Cain drew heavily, breathed out the smoke in Bering's direction before he answered. "Get me a navie, someone with a strong set of lips and a sweet ass. Someone who already knows their fucking place."

Bering cocked his head and stared at Cain, who flicked the ash off his cigarette unto Bering's floor and stared back. "I'm not giving you someone to use as a punching bag, you do that in the gym."

Cain stood, leaned over Bering's desk and purposefully flicked more ash on its polished top. "Fuck you." Cain turned and stomped out of the room, glaring at the cowering desk jockey as he passed through the anteroom.

Bering brushed off the ash, his jaw set as he watched Sasha disappear from his sight. "Conroy, no disturbances for an hour!" he barked out and punched the panel to slide his door closed. Leaning forward with his head in his hands, he realized how weary he was. He didn't know how Cook stood it, all those dead young boys, and those left behind to pick up the pieces of their lives. Maybe he was just getting too old for this shit and retirement was a good idea. Sighing heavily he punched up the personnel screen and started searching for someone Cain wouldn't break into a thousand pieces.

When Cain came back to his quarters much later in the day after running specs on the Reliant, the navie was already moved in and waiting. There was nothing special about him; sour look on his face, all sharp bone and blond hair. Like they all were. "Get me a drink", Cain ordered as he pushed past him towards the head. "Pour one for yourself, bitch."

When he came out from his shower, towel around his middle, still drying his midnight black hair, the navie was sitting at the little table with a glass before him and one across from him. He had poured generously leaving the bottle on the table next to Cain's glass. He stared at Cain, who plopped himself down in the chair, picked up his glass and growled at him.

"You speak when you're spoken to; otherwise you shut the fuck up. You do what I tell you, when I tell you and how I tell you. You got that bitch?"

The navie studied him for a few seconds and then upended his glass, drinking the contents completely before he answered. He pushed his chair back from the table, leaned forward with his hands on his knees. Looking Cain straight in the eyes and speaking so quietly Cain had to strain to hear him, he said, "You understand that you don't scare me? I'll do whatever you want because I was ordered to. But don't get your dick all hard about that. The sooner we get off this piece of crap and I get back home to civilized human beings and wash the stink of you fucking colony bastards off of me, the sooner I can forget this shit ever happened."

Cain raised an eyebrow at the calm navigator leaning forward in front of him. It was then that he noticed a deadly coldness lying just under the surface of the navie's skin like a blade, sharp and dangerous, pointed at his gut. The navie had dead eyes, but they looked up at him expectantly. Cain threw back the Vodka, welcoming the burn deep down his throat. Leaning back in his chair he opened his towel and gestured towards his cock.

"Good then we understand each other. Get on your fucking knees and get that mouth busy, bitch."

It wasn't much of a life, but until his squad shipped off the Sheipnir, it fell into a routine Cain thought could live with. The navie and he ran the diagnostics on the Reliant until Cain could run them backwards with his eyes closed. The battle simulation was gone over until it was picked clean like a chicken bone. What they did right, what they did wrong. Why so many had died. The configurations that had underestimated the Colterons responses. All the ships had to be refigured using the new engine prototype. It was just a circle jerk of frustration and Cain didn't much care. Cain only cared about getting back to his base ship; getting back to the life he had before Abel. Before happiness. Before love. Before the very brief time that he meant something to another human being.

His new navie was a good fuck. He kept his word; there wasn't anything he wouldn't submit to. Even when Cain tied him down, greased his hand and slid the fingers past the tight ring of his anus, fisting him deep and slow. He was good with his mouth, could take Cain deep into his throat without struggling. Cain would have felt better if he struggled. The only sign of dissention was when the navie spit out Cain's cum. More than once Cain made him lick it from the floor, or suck it out of the sink. However, he had to be forced to swallow it, bitter distaste playing across his face every time. Cain knew it wasn't that it was cum, but that it was his cum. Cain fucked him whenever he saw him, and didn't care who was watching. He didn't bother with formality, just barked at him to get his pants down and get his ass up. Sometimes he just cut them off, leaving them in tatters on the floor around the navies' boots.

He only hit him once. The navie turned on Cain; grabbed him by the throat, making Cain dance a little as he held him off his toes. "Don't you ever fucking hit me, Cain. I'm not your girlfriend." He threatened softly, looking Cain straight in the face as he dropped him back to his feet. They faced off for a few moments, breathing hard.

"Blyat!" Cain had spit in his face, the navie not responding except to take out a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his face with it, and then dropped the filthy cloth on Cain's boots. He turned then and left their quarters. When he came back much later that night Cain made him bleed. The navie never said a word about it.

More than once, he found himself sucking down hot coffee in the mess, his eyes drawn to Encke's navie, the Lieutenant. Keeler. Cain watched him long enough that he was sure Keeler was growing thinner, if something that scrawny could be thinner. Much more and he would disappear completely. Maybe that's what he was going for. Cain watched him sit and stare at the food before him, even put a forkful to his mouth but then it would drop back into the plate. Keeler would move things around as a child does when trying to make it seem like they had eaten something they disliked. Most of the time Keeler just stared. Cain realized he was pretty, too pretty even with dead blue eyes and those sunken freckled cheeks. He knew exactly what James was attracted to because James liked clean and pretty. No matter how good a fuck Sasha was, he was never going to be clean and pretty.

Cain was bored most of the time as the crew slowly relaxed. With the battle over, and the Teron's on the run, there was only so much engine prep and simulator training that a person could do. His navie would suck his cock but wasn't interested in having a conversation. Cain didn't know a damn thing about him other than the feel of his ass and the warmth of his throat. When Cain finished using him, the navie went to his own bunk turning away from Cain. Whatever Cain might have had to offer, he wanted no part of it.

After a few weeks, when they both were dressing for report, Cain had tried to breach the icy wall between them and asked, "So did you lose your fighter?"

The navie stopped shaving and leaned against the sink, head cocked as if he was thinking about it.

"You think I'd be here if there was another choice?"

Cain snarled back, annoyed "I don't need you; you can fuck off any time."

The navie snorted and turned back to the mirror, continuing to pull his razor through the white cloud of his shaving cream.

"It's me or they throw your ass in the psych ward, Cain. You need me."

Cain wiped his face and threw the towel in the navie's direction, grabbed his jacket and stormed out towards the observation deck pushing and shoving people out of his way. A couple of times fighters angrily turned on him, but then someone would whisper in their ear and nod in Cain's direction, and they would move away from him like he was a rabid dog. There was truth to that but it didn't stop Cain from cursing at them "Fucking pussies, fucking bastard bunch of cowards." Everyone he passed got out of his way, averting their eyes, avoiding his seething anger not wanting to be caught in its combustion.

Then one day the navie wasn't there when Cain came back to the room. His closet was empty, his tack out of the head, his bunk stripped. Cain poured himself a drink and muttered, "Good riddance and fuck you," to the empty bunk. He was alone again.

That night he dreamt of Abel, for the first time since he had moved to these quarters. He woke up smelling Ethan all over him.


	3. Chapter 3

Cain sat in the Mess across the room from him, chain smoking and watching Encke's little blond navie, Keeler, as he hunched over a cup of something steaming, looking rough. He looked lost the huge blue sweatshirt he was wearing. The sweatshirt must have been Encke's.

Cain wasn't sure how he remembered James's favorite color was blue or how he ever knew it in the first place, but the rush of memory, of James sitting in his aunts kitchen eating fresh sweet potato pie and sweet talking his aunt into a second piece nearly knocked him over. Sasha had borrowed James's pj's; blue plaid flannel, three sizes too big, so he had to roll up the cuffs to avoid tripping on them. He remembered James's aunt teasing him about not needing a second piece of pie and to give it to Sasha, who needed some meat on his bones. The cinnamon and nutmeg smell of the pies invaded him and refused to let him go. He could hear James's booming laugh filling the room and his aunt laughing back at the both of them. She never questioned what the two of them were to each other; just smiled at Sasha as if he was something special.

Shaking it off, he looked back at the little blonde and could see Keeler was swallowed up in the sweatshirt. He understood what Keeler was doing. He kept the little bag of Ethan in his flight jacket pocket, so that he could touch it when he needed to. He understood what that blue sweatshirt meant to Keeler.

It was hard to notice how much weight Keeler had lost with it on. If you wanted to hide something, like starving yourself, so your Superior wouldn't ask too many questions, it would do the job. Cain let his thoughts drift to how he must have looked when James fucked him. Even emaciated, he was a beauty. He wondered if James was too much for Keeler's tiny body and if James had to hold him down to force his cock in. He wondered if James used lube or if he just ripped him open as he had Sasha. As he studied the vacant ice blue eyes, the fine boned face sprinkled with faint freckles and that long sexy hair he understood that James would have used plenty of lube and would have taken his time because there was more making love than fucking. James would have treated Keeler as if he was delicate, which from the looks of him, was true.

It took Cain a moment to realize that his hair, which was pulled back into a messy braid, was dull with oil and tangles. Keeler's hair was dirty. As Cain studied him, he could see that the pants he was wearing were filthy, grease spots and dirt rubbed into the thighs, the cuffs worn and frayed. Upon closer observation, the blue sweatshirt was stained at the elbows, and wrinkled as it had been slept in more than once, maybe much more than that.

Cain lit another cig from the butt of the one he was smoking and got up to fill his coffee cup again. Since the navie that Bering had given him had shipped out, Cain had lost his appetite and gone back to drinking himself to sleep. At least now, if he passed out, he didn't dream. Abel left him alone.

The waiting to leave the Sleipnir was killing him. Bering had informed his Superiors that his command was staying until the new navigators boarded so those fighters without partners could be teamed up before they returned to their own ship. Cain wasn't thrilled about being left with ghosts but having a regular girlfriend would keep him distracted so that he wouldn't have to face feeling so empty.

He had taken to sitting in the navigator's end of the Reliant with his bottle and cigs, thinking about Abel's lips and the taste of his blood on them. Sometimes he thought he could smell him, all standard issue soap and the smell of the stuff Abel used to make his hair so soft. The smell made Cain's cock fill to semi hardness, drawing Cain's fingers to stroke it. It was only in the last second when he could feel that spark, that itch deep inside of him begin to pulse into explosion that he would allow himself to ache. When his cum was dripping down the navigation screen he would hold his fist to his chest breathing shallow and fast, his heart pounding with sharp stabbing pain. If he was having a heart attack he didn't want to know. He was afraid to go down to the infirmary, afraid he would be pulled off active duty and then have nothing left.

Keeler set his coffee cup back down askew, tipping it over. Its scalding contents flowed across the table, over the edge and dripped on to Keeler's thighs. Cain snorted back a laugh. When Keeler didn't react to the scalding liquid covering his pants and pooling on the floor by his feet, Cain got up and stalked across the room. He yanked Keeler's chair back pulling him away from the scalding liquid; admonishing him, "Hey sleeping beauty, doesn't that fucking hurt?"

Keeler didn't register the tall, dangerous looking fighter with his hand at the back of his chair, breathing smoke in his face. He just looked down at his wet pants, confused.

"What?"

"Your pants, baby, you spilled your coffee."

Keeler stood then shaking a little as if he was trying clear his thoughts. He stared at the growing puddle, then up at Cain. "Um, thanks, I'm ok."

Cain snorted and dropped his butt, grinding out his cigarette underneath his boot. Keeler brushed at the wetness on his pants. Cain could smell him, unwashed, sour and reeking.

"Tch, sure you are. Whateverthefuck." Cain shook his head at him, heading back to his table to grab his cigs and jacket.

Keeler stared at his back, wrinkling up his nose in thought, trying to recollect something. "You're James's friend."

Cain laughed out loud, slipping on his jacket. "Not even close."

Cain moved to the exit, heading down to the gym, he paused in the doorway of the mess, looked back over his shoulder at Keeler and spat out, "Have someone look at that burn and for fuck's sake take a fucking shower."

The next time he saw Keeler he was getting into the lift to go back to his quarters after ten hours on duty. Cain entered the lift, Keeler leaning in a back corner of it, staring into space with unfocused eyes. Keeler still looked and smelled like the walking dead. Sasha remembered when he was a little boy, his babushka telling him and his sister stories of the dead come back to life just to scare them witless. He thought, "That's what Keeler looks like, only he hasn't come back to life."

Cain turned his back on him; it wasn't any of his business what the fuck this officer did. The mechanism moved the lift upwards toward his quarters. All he wanted was a shower, a bottle and a smoke.

"I didn't love him. He loved me, but I didn't love him."

Cain glanced back at the small voice barely a whisper behind him, snorted and then turned back.

"None of my fucking business. Sir."

Cain heard him collapse, sliding down the wall of the lift before he could turn around again. "Tch, fuck!" Cain cursed, kneeling by Keeler's side, lifting his head. "Sir? Hey! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Cain cursed. Keeler's eyes rolled back as Cain shook the limp body still swimming in the same dirty blue sweatshirt he had on two days ago.

Cain got his arms underneath him and picked him up. He was so very slight, like a broken little bird, hardly substantial. When the lift stopped on Cain's floor, he got off and carried Keeler to his quarters. He slammed the latch to slide open the door. Then he carried Keeler into the room and laid him on the side of the bed. Keeler moaned and rolled over to his side, threatening to roll off the bed. Just what he needed, Cain panicked, an officer in his room unconscious with bruises. Cain hauled him back by pulling on the giant sweatshirt, lifting it up and carrying Keeler's body with it. As the arms of the sweatshirt raised up, Cain saw what Keeler had been hiding. Determined little slashes across his wrists, crusted with blood, some older than others.

"Oh fuck, didn't anyone do a psych eval on you, or do officers get off with a hey I'm just peachy keen? Fucking morons." Cain spit out angrily pulling the sweatshirt over Keeler's head. "Damn you stink, what the fuck?" Keeler was filthy, his skin irritated in what little folds he had at his joints, more bone than muscle with a ripe, pungent odor coming off him that made Cain gag. Cain stood back shaking his head.

Cain muttered, "Going to have to burn the damn sheets" under his breath and left Keeler lying on the bed. He flipped on the light in the head, turning the shower on to warm it, wishing he had a tub. Going back to the bed, he finished stripping Keeler, throwing the filthy clothes in a pile to go out with the garbage. Keeler's arms were covered with the evidence of his grief, little bloody slashes from his forearms to his wrists, lines and lines of them. Cain quickly removed his own clothes and picked up the tiny body. Keeler instinctually moved towards Cain's warmth shivering even though the room was warm. Cain carried him into the shower, propped him up, shaking him first gently then more determined trying to rouse him.

"Baby, you are going to have to help me with this. I can't hold you up and wash you, and baby, you really need to be scrubbed." Keeler's eyes fluttered open, calm for a moment; he then panicked not knowing where he was. He sputtered taking in a mouthful of water then turned around pushing Cain away. Cain grabbed at him, not wanting to end up crashing on to the shower floor.

"No, no, no, no, I don't want..." Keeler howled flailing around, pushing at Cain until Cain had to grab the towel bar to keep both of them standing. Keeler went limp, with Cain's arm around his skinny waist. "Shit..." Cain tried desperately to control them both as he slid slowly down the shower wall. Holding Keeler with one arm, he managed to keep them steady with his other arm until he was sitting on the shower stall floor with Keeler in his lap.

"Ok, that's the way it's going to have to be then." Cain muttered keeping hold of Keeler. Grabbing a washcloth of the towel bar with his free hand, he soaped it up and began to wash Keeler's face, gently. "Sir, it would really help if you would wake the fuck up and fucking help me out here," he sputtered, the shower hitting the side of his head, the water running into his eyes and nose.

Keeler suddenly woke again and shoved the cloth away, his terrified eyes looking all around.

"No! Don't! Leave me alone!" Keeler slapped at the washcloth until Cain had to catch his wrists above his head, the rancid sourness of his underarms wafting upwards.

"Hey, fucking knock it off! You're going to hurt yourself and I don't fucking need to have an officer found in my quarters, naked and bruised. Baby, settle down, you're filthy, you stink to high heaven and if you can't wash yourself then you need to let me!" Cain barked out angrily.

Keeler went limp. He turned his head away from Cain his breathing shallow and hitching. "Fuck, don't you navie girls do anything but cry?" Cain growled at him sitting back against the shower wall in frustration.

"Come on baby, we're going to lose the hot water if you don't let me do this." Cain cajoled. The little body still lying across his legs, withdrawn back into his own world still quietly sniffling, relaxed. Cain started wiping the back of his neck, then his back with the soapy washcloth letting the water gently rinse the soap away. Keeler remained quiet, finally resigned and submitted to Cain's administrations. He turned as Cain moved him but would not bring his eyes up to look at him. Cain soaped the washcloth again but hesitated. Disgusted; as the smell of old shit, piss and sour sweat drifted up to his nose, Cain clenched his jaw and pulled Keeler legs apart. Keeler seemed to sink into the cradle of Cain's arm as Cain gently washed his cock and balls. Hugging him to his chest Cain scrubbed Keeler's ass. When he turned him over, Keeler was semi hard, biting his lips, breathing with little quiet gasps.

"Oh no, none of that, Sir, I'm not giving Bering an excuse to throw my gypsy ass in the Brig." Keeler blushed all the way to his toes. Cain moved out of the spray, crossed his legs and pulled Keeler up to a sitting position between his knees. "Now, Lt. we're going wash this disgusting rat's nest of yours. You are going to fucking sit there like a good little girl and let me do it, you fucking understand me?" Keeler just nodded his head, hanging it forward as Cain carefully unplaited his long braid. "Maybe this is sexier when it's clean." Cain muttered pouring the standard issue shampoo generously into it. "This crap won't make it soft and manageable but it sure will make it clean."

Cain started at the front at Keeler's forehead, massaging the shampoo down to the hairline then worked his way back up to the crown. Then he started at Keeler's temples, repeating the massage in the same gentle, careful manner. Keeler moved with the manipulations of Cain's fingers, doing what he was told. His hair was like spun silk, heavy and thick with the shampoo and water soaking it. Cain tilted Keeler's head forward, got up underneath to the scalp then rubbed the long locks clean. "All right baby, almost done, but I need you to stand on your own so I can rinse this crap out of your hair, so upsy daisy." Cain pulled himself to his feet then put his forearms under Keeler's armpits to haul him up so he was under the showerhead. Keeler wavered but stood, letting Cain use the hand held shower to rinse the soap out of his hair until it was clean. Cain rinsed his body again and then studied the matted and tangled wet veil of blonde hair. He leaned Keeler forward with his hands on the towel rack. "You stay right here baby. Promise me you'll not move?" Keeler just nodded his head, not looking at Cain or moving out of the spray.

Cain stepped out of the shower and opened one of the little drawers by the sink. Rummaging around in it, he grasped a little bottle of conditioner that Abel had used. Cain looked down at the little purple bottle. It would be gone if he used it on Keeler but there was no way a comb was getting through that tangled mess if he didn't. He paused for just a moment remembering the scent of jasmine on Able when he nuzzled his soft hair while they slept wrapped around each other. He wanted to put the little bottle back in it hiding place to keep it forever. He took a deep breath; pushed past the greed of his grief and stepping back into the shower he emptied the bottle on Keeler's hair. He gently massaged it through Keeler mane letting it stand for a few minutes like Abel had always done then rinsed it carefully out. The shower filled with the scent of Ethan.

Cain turned off the facets, reached out for a clean towel and wrapped it around Keeler who was already shivering in the cooling air. He grabbed another towel to wrap around Keeler's wet hair then picked him up in his arms; carried him to one of the chairs and sat him down. Cain slipped into his robe, took the other one from the hook to wrap around Keeler. Cain snorted looking at the white fluffy thing; it was the only thing his last navie had left behind because Cain would wear it just to irritate him. He wasn't surprised when it was left behind. He wrapped the robe around Keeler with the pathetic hope of keeping him warm. Keeler looked small and swallowed up. Cain grabbed his wide tooth comb out of the cabinet in the head; it would have to do. He didn't have a brush, that had gone back to Earth with Ethan's things.

Cain pulled up another chair sitting close enough to Keeler that he could feel the little shivers that racked Keeler's body. Keeler just stared off into space letting Cain move his head as he tried to thread the comb through the long wet hair, starting at the bottom, working his way carefully up to unravel each matted tangle. Just as his sister had taught him to do when they were children. He was patient and determined, easing the comb through the wet hair. The cabin was quiet with just the rhythm of their breathing, Cain's quiet cussing when a tangle wouldn't cooperate or he thought he was pulling Keeler's hair enough to hurt him. Keeler never said anything at all through the whole process. Finally, it was straight and hanging nearly to Keeler's waist, still damp from the shower.

Cain caught him as his eyes fluttered close and he slumped forward. "Damn, Sir, you can't fucking crash here!" Cain admonished as he caught Keeler in his arms. Keeler's eyes were shut, his thin lips parted. Resigned, he lifted him up to move him to the bed. Cain had hoped to change the sheets but Keeler was already curling up turned to his side, his eyes closed. "Well fuck", Cain cursed as he kicked the top sheet over the side to the pile of filthy clothes. Reaching down he pulled a blanket off the floor and covered Keeler, who was already snoring, already deep in exhausted sleep. He wondered if James's ghost had been haunting him this whole time.

Cain dried his own hair, lit a cig and pulled out a half-empty bottle. He watched Keeler sleep in his bed. "Fuck me, who would have ever thought I'd have that bastard's girlfriend in my bed? Ironic, huh, James? Your gypsy whore has your fucking pansy bitch right in my bed. Wonder what noises he would make with my big gypsy cock up his ass? I wonder if he'd be loud enough for you to hear him in your grave?" Cain angrily wiped away the moisture at his eyes; he was not fucking crying for James. He was not fucking crying for anyone.

Cain woke, startled, not sure where he was for a moment. Then he realized he had dozed off in his chair, his legs propped up on the other one. He glanced over to the bed; Keeler was still sleeping soundly but had lost the blanket. The robe had fallen open exposing his little round ass. Cain gazed for a moment at the perfect skin, disoriented. He quickly shook it off.

It had been a while since his navie left, and his hand just wasn't the same as a warm tight ass as he imagined Keeler's to be but he didn't want to spend the rest of the time his squad was on this tin can in the Brig. He wasn't going to go where his cock was leading him.

Standing up and stretching, his muscles tight and cramped from sleeping sitting up in the chair, he went to the bed and pulled the blanket over the Lt. He slipped into sweats and let himself quietly out of the room. Heading down to the mess, he grabbed a couple of pieces of fruit, some juice, some toast and a bowl of oatmeal along with a couple of coffees. Who knew what Keeler would eat; Cain thought it best to cover his bases if he was going to get the little Lt. to eat something. He nearly ran back to his quarters, afraid that Keeler would wake up and leave but when he got back to the room, Keeler was in the same spot, still sound asleep. Cain wondered if the last time he slept was the last time he bathed too. He sat back down to suck on his coffee, eating one of the bananas and waited.

He had dozed off again but woke when he heard the toilet flush. He eyed Keeler as he came back into the room and sat in the chair across the table.

"Coffee is probably cold, let me heat it up." Cain grabbed the cup, setting it into the little microwave. Keeler just sat, slumped over, staring at his feet until Cain set the steaming cup before him.

"Drink that, and then you're going to eat something." Cain ordered him. Keeler looked up at him, looking miserably lost. He glanced down at his hands lying in his lap until Cain leaned over and grabbed his arm shaking him firmly.

"Drink the fucking coffee. James would have wanted you to. Whatever the fuck you are trying to do, you're not doing it here."

Tears welled in Keeler's eyes and ran down his freckled cheeks. "Why are you fucking doing this? Why the fuck do you care about me?"

Cain sat back down and snorted "Such language from such a pretty little girl, tch, tch, tch"

"Fuck you," Keeler spat out, wiping the tears off his face.

"I don't give a rat's ass about you, baby, or that piece of shit boyfriend you spread your legs for. However, you aren't fucking killing yourself in my room. Do that someplace else if you want." Angrily Cain grabbed Keeler's wrist and held it up so that the robe sleeve fell exposing the cuts up and down his forearm. "But if you're serious, you fucking bitch, then do it right, not across, cut down like this through the vein." Cain drew down the purple veins in Keeler's wrist with his finger, leaving a red mark on the pale skin. "All you are doing is playing if you do it this way. Be fucking serious, do it right or don't do it at all."

Keeler angrily pulled his wrist out of Cain's grip, sat glaring at him for a few moments, and then collapsed back into the chair. He was quiet while he drank his coffee. Cain put a half a piece of toast and a couple segments of orange on a plate in front of him.

"Why are you taking care of me?" Cain could barely hear Keeler whisper.

"I have no fucking idea." Keeler looked up at Cain who lit a cigarette, sat back in his chair and spat out, "Eat that shit or I'm going to shove it down your throat. Sir."

Cain was weirdly pleased that Keeler ate what was on his plate then asked for more orange. Cain carefully pulled the segments apart offering them one by one to him, like feeding a baby bird. Keeler took them from his fingers reluctantly, put them in his mouth and chewed slowly. Cain used the opportunity to really look at him. Keeler was slight enough to look like you could break him just by knocking him off the chair. He wasn't sure if that would change if Keeler put on the pounds he had grieved off. He had big icy blue eyes with an unexpected smattering of freckles across his cheeks. Cain knew from seeing him before, when life made sense, that he was pretty, all sweet smiles and shy embarrassment. That alone would have kept James's cock hard. Cain imagined Encke couldn't get enough of his navie princess. Keeler's eyes began to flutter again, his eyelids closing. When he slipped easily back into sleep, Cain had to catch him as he fell forward. "Oh no you don't, baby, let's get you back to bed."

Cain laid him out in the bed, covering him again. Cain stood over him and watched him for several minutes. "James, you bastard, how did you ever wind up with such a pretty little slut?" he muttered to himself. Realizing he was exhausted, Cain laid down on the far side of the bed, facing away from Keeler and falling into unconsciousness too.

When he woke up, Keeler was not so much spooning him as having wrapped himself around Cain. His right hand was underneath the right side of Cain's waist; his left draped over the left side; long fingertips brushing across the flat of Cain's abdomen. His cheek plastered between Cain's shoulder blades, his knee's tucked up under Cain's ass, toes between Cain's calves. Cain froze for a moment, confused where he was and who's hard cock was jutting into his back. The sweet jasmine smell from Keeler's hair disoriented Cain and for a moment, he snuggled back into Ethan's warmth. As horrible memories washed over him, he scrambled off the bed, standing by its side, trembling. In the covers, it was hard to tell what ghost was lying next to him, but shaking his head to clear it, he remembered it was Keeler, not Abel. "Fuck this!" he cursed, shaking his head again to clear the cobwebs.

Using the small standard issue hot pot in the little kitchenette, he put water on for instant coffee then headed into the shower. Ignoring his hard-on wasn't working for him, so as the hot stinging water beat his shoulders into consciousness; he roughly jerked himself out, his cum washing down the drain. He didn't think of Abel, but Deimos on his knees with his mouth open, waiting. " _BLYAT!"_ he cried out as he came, _"Fuck! Where did that come from?"_ He hadn't thought of his myshonok since the battle, not even for a second. Having Keeler so close to him was bringing them all back to haunt him, drawing the ghosts of his past back to him like moths to a flame.

Keeler was sitting up in bed when Cain left the head, a towel around his middle while he toweled his hair dry.

"Good morning." Keeler said quietly looking up at him expectantly. "You're Cain, right? Ethan's fighter?" Cain temper flared, hot and quick, wanting to bloody the mouth that spoke Abel's real name. He never wanted to hear it on someone else's lips. Turning away, he calmed himself. He pulled two mugs from the little shelf over the sink.

"Yeah. Was." He spooned instant coffee into the mugs, turning his back to Keeler, and then poured the hot water over the crystals, his hands trembling, not wanting Keeler to see that. He handed one over to Keeler who wrapped his fingers around the warmth of the cup. Abel did that, hell they must all do that. Cain went to his closet, pulled on clean jeans and a t-shirt before coming back to drink his coffee. After this morning, he wasn't giving his cock the chance to get any ideas about Keeler. He didn't want to fuck Keeler. It would be like fucking James and he knew if he did, he would break into a thousand pieces as he had been threatening to do for months now. His delicate balance of denial would tumble then the knife in his chest would carve up his heart. He didn't want to do that in front of James's leftover. Keeler looked up at him from underneath the veil of white blond hair, sipping delicately at his coffee.

The room was silent, uncomfortable after a few minutes. Cain put some leftover orange segments on a napkin, pushed it towards Keeler and said, "Start with those and if you can keep it down, baby."

Keeler pulled the napkin towards him not meeting Cain's eyes and slowly ate the oranges.

"Why are you taking care of me?" he asked softly not looking at Cain.

"I told you, I have no fucking idea."

"Because you were James's friend?"

Cain poured himself another cup and leaned over the cabinet to compose himself aware Keeler was an officer and could still order him to the Brig. "I was James's _whore_ , not his friend! Get that _fucking_ straight, because I don't want to hear about you and him and your fucking life together! He's _dead_ , Abel is _dead_ , they are all fucking shit assed _dead_ and _rotting_ in their _fucking_ graves and we got left behind, so _fucking_ just stop trying to kill yourself over someone you didn't even love!" Cain turned away from Keeler, enraged and embarrassed that suddenly he couldn't stop the tears running down his face, dripping off his jaw. It all came bubbling up out of his gut like a burst abscess, the pus of what was festering inside spurting up out of him. It was too late; he couldn't stop the rage that filled him. He couldn't stop himself from vomiting all his pain at Keeler.

"You fucking ought to be ashamed, you useless piece of shit! What a fucking pathetic little cunt, cutting at yourself, starving yourself, what kind of _fucking_ pansy bullshit is that? You say you didn't love James, fine, nobody said you had to but you fucking used his cock to keep yourself warm, bitch, so don't fucking dishonor him! Don't you fucking disrespect him, you selfish whore! James was a good man, he _deserved_ better than that, he fucking _deserved_ better than me and he fucking _deserved_ better than you, he _deserved_ better than having his fucking face blown off, he _deserved_ better...", Cain choked unable to catch his breath. Keeler looked up at him with wide glassy eyes stunned at Cain's rage.

Cain slammed his fist into the cabinet above him; blood welled up on his knuckles. At least this pain he could understand, not the white-hot vise that gripped his heart making it impossible for him to breathe. He couldn't do this, not here, not now, not ever. If he lost himself, if he lost control he would never get it back and he'd be reduced to drinking himself to death or picking a fight with someone who would gut him. He might as well have stayed in the colonies to be some fucking whore to a bastard Bratva boss.

Keeler got out of the bed, pulling the robe around him tightly and went over to the counter where Cain stood still shaking violently. Softly, without touching Cain, he stood next to him for several seconds just breathing. Then he took the cloth by the sink and rinsed it out in tepid water. Turning back to Cain, he hesitantly reached out his hand to take Cain's. Cain dully looked at the pale shaking hand reaching for his. He thought about it for a moment, started to pull away and then allowed the offer. Keeler gently wiped the blood from his split knuckles. His hands are so soft, Cain thought, sadly biting his lip.

They stood there, holding hands for what seemed a very long time, and then Cain broke away.

"I have duty, Lt. I've got to go. Stay as long as you need to."

Much later, when Cain got back, Keeler was gone. The robe hung back up neatly, the bed made, the mugs washed cleaned and put away. The room was a vacuum, empty and lonely. Throwing himself on the bed with his cigs and his bottle, Cain drank himself unconscious, in despair that his life would never be whole again.

He startled awake hearing his name called. Like a wistful prayer, he whispered, "Ethan?"


	4. Chapter 4

"Cain? Cain are you in there?" The soft calling wasn't Abel. Cain, between still drunk and hung over, shook his head trying to clear it. He instantly regretted it, as his brain seemed to bounce off the sides of his skull.

It was Keeler pleading his name, hesitantly knocking, as if he would be caught doing something he shouldn't. "Oh fuck me," Cain cursed in resignation but then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and padded to the door.

"What do you want, Sir?" he asked gruffly through the door, hesitating to open it. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to have James's little girlfriend back in his room. He wasn't so sure of his resolve; he had been so much stronger during the day before.

Then there was silence. Maybe Keeler had given up, and would go away, leaving him alone so he didn't have to make any hard choices. He was too weary for hard choices. If he let the Lt. in, he was afraid it would be impossible to stop himself. He was afraid that his rage and his desire, which was boiling up inside of him, would spill over; an uncontrollable fire threatening to devastate everything in its path.

The knocking stopped, followed by quiet so Cain began to relax, hopeful Keeler had given up.

"Would...would you just talk to me? Please." Keeler begged again, whispering from the other side of the door. "Please."

Cain flashed on the memory of his babushka, always in her funeral black telling him stories from the old country about vampires, warning him to never invite one in. He feared Keeler was an emotional vampire, his great anguish just beneath the surface of that porcelain skin, seducing Cain past his crumbling resolve to not cross the line he had drawn between them.

Cain ran his fingers through his hair, rubbed at his eyes. He was too raw to tolerate the pathetic pleading. He hesitated a few more minutes before steeling himself, finally he slammed the button on the panel next to the door and invited Keeler in. Keeler was haggard, his eyes red and wet, he seemed smaller than when he had paced the observation deck, commanding his men forward to their fate. This Keeler was damaged, but Cain was satisfied that he was at least dressed in his own clothes.

"Alright, Lt. For a minute," Cain turned and left him at the door. The door closed with a quiet shush behind him. Cain pulled two mugs down from the little shelf above the sink in his kitchenette then filled the hot pot with water and plugged it in. "Coffee?" he called out. Keeler still stood by the front door, not sure if he was welcome any further or not. Irritated Cain waved him towards one of the chairs.

"Sit down. Do you fucking want coffee?"

Keeler shook his head, the long blond hair neatly plaited in a braid over his shoulder moved with him. Way too sexy, Cain thought, everything about Keeler was way too sexy.

"I'd prefer tea if you have it, please." he said quietly not meeting Cain's gaze. Cain snorted and turned back, opening a drawer. "I think there's some in here." He pulled out a lone teabag, put it in the mug and poured hot water over it. He made his coffee, placed the mugs on the table, turned a chair around backwards to straddled it.

"James liked tea," Keeler murmured fiddling with the teabag, dunking it up and down, lost in his past.

"Da, Earl Grey in the morning..."

"Peppermint at night." Keeler looked up at Cain; his eyes were glistening with tears again, his face stricken. He seemed to sink into himself, looking shattered like a crushed china doll. "I really miss him. I didn't know it would be so hard to miss someone." Keeler whispered so low, Cain wasn't sure he was meant to hear him.

He brushed his black hair back out of his eyes, and brought his hand up to nervously rub at his lips. Keeler's grief was beginning to flow out of him and Cain was not sure if he wanted to be consumed in its path.

"Why did you help me?" Keeler swallowed back his sorrow; he didn't want to cry again, it was just too fucking painful to cry. It hurt to breathe and hurt to open his eyes, his whole body felt like an open wound.

Cain took a long sip of his coffee, then raised his head to look Keeler straight in the eyes. "Why does it matter? I just did. We can leave it at that." Keeler hunched over his mug in danger of losing what little control he had, shivering as if the air had suddenly gone cold.

Sasha felt something melting inside of him. Feeling warm feathered kisses up the side of his neck, he swatted Ethan's ghost away. Cain leaned forward, closer to Keeler's face.

"Lt. Keeler, _Sir_. I've got nothing to say to an officer who can throw me in the brig if he has a damn tantrum because he doesn't like what I have to say. If you want to talk, then we talk like men, even if you don't fucking want to hear what I have to say. I'm not fucking pulling any punches. You have to give me your word that there won't be any repercussions."

Keeler brought his eyes up to meet Cain's. Cain's face was dark and dangerous like a thunderstorm in the distance. Keeler gave a few thoughts to just thanking him for the tea and finding his way out of the room. However, he knew that wasn't going to help him. If Cain refused him, it would only be a matter of time before he started hacking at his wrists again.

Keeler looked hard at the fighter, maybe for the first time seeing him clearly. Cain looked exhausted, eyes tired and rimmed raw, sunken into his cheeks. His shoulders hunched, as if he was carrying a weight too heavy to bear. Keeler recognized his own pain in the man sitting across from him. He recognized the same hell of guilt and doubt he was in. Cain had become jittery, nervously moving as if he couldn't hold still, on the edge of something he was barely holding on to. Yet, Cain was the only one who had reached out to him, the only one who bothered to be concerned about him. Everyone else, his friends, the other officers had carefully stepped around him, like his sorrow was some sort of disease they could catch. He needed to know why it had been Cain.

"I promise. I'll listen. I need to know." Keeler nodded in agreement.

Cain snorted, reaching for his pack of cigarettes, shook one out and put it in his mouth. Flicking his lighter, he took a long drag off it. Leaning close to Keeler, he spat out, "Ok, _Sir,_ you better mean it or I promise, _I promise_ , I'll fuck you up, I don't give a shit if you were James's girlfriend. Do you understand me?" Cain sat back, waited for Keeler to react, hoping maybe he would just run off like the little bitch he was. Keeler stayed where he sat. Breathing deeply, nodded his head in agreement.

"I said I promise."

"Shit, whateverthefuck!" Cain got up for more coffee, then sat back without asking Keeler if he wanted anything else. Cain took a long drag off his smoke. He knew now why he had reached out to Keeler. Why he risked being rebuffed by this officer. He realized it in last night's drunken stupor when he needed to pull Abel's warmth to him but instead found the space next to him still empty and cold.

"For Ethan. Not for you. Not for James. Not for me." Sasha lowered his voice and looked away, suddenly embarrassed. "I did it for Ethan."

"Ethan?" Keeler asked quietly.

"Yeah, for Ethan. He's like that, always thinking about others. He's...good, he has a good heart." Cain choked the words out. "Did. Was." Sasha ran his fingers nervously through his messy hair, so close to weeping that he had to turn away. "Ethan was a good person, like James. Better than me. Better than you."

"Ethan told me he was in love with you." Keeler murmured while he stared down at his cooling tea, lost in thought. "We sometimes talked about stuff like that. About homes, our families, James...you."

Agitated, Cain got up and began to pace. "You're a coward." He snarled at Keeler. "And you're a fucking liar."

Keeler's eyes followed him as Cain paced like a large cat, gathering his rage around him. Suddenly Keeler realized how vulnerable he had made himself. Cain could hurt him if he wanted to. Keeler hoped he would, anything to make his heart stop aching.

"You're so fucking pathetic, saying you don't love James! That's a damn fucking lie! You know it's not fucking true! Do you think that denying it will change anything? Like if you fucking pretend he was nothing to you, it won't be a fucking knife in your gut every time you get into that fucking empty bed of yours? Did James know what a damn fucking little pansy coward you really are? Denying you loved him, like he was just a fucking back alley trick you picked up while you were slumming?"

Tears slipped down Keeler's cheeks and rolled on to the table. Cain kept his distance, afraid if he got near him he would not be able to keep from harming him. He waited for Keeler to answer, overwhelmed with indignant rage for James. Keeler licked his lips and hung his head, not sure if he had the voice to speak any longer.

"Yes. I loved him. I still love him! I'll love him until the day I die. I don't know how to not love him, I want to! I want the pain to stop, I hurt. I hurt! I can't stand any more." Sasha almost broke at the twisted look of utter anguish across Keeler's face, crumpling under the weight of his sorrow. Keeler rocked forward in the chair, his breaths shallow and hitching as he tried unsuccessfully to control himself.

"They made me...they made me...I had to tell them to let him go...to turn everything off!" Keeler forcing the words out, cries racking his thin frame, his hand covering his mouth. "I didn't want to, I didn't want to! He was still warm, and his chest was moving and he was holding my hand...I didn't want to let him go, I...", Keeler wrapped his skinny arms around his chest and rocked back and forth, choking and coughing as he howled in pain. Tears welled up in Sasha's eyes. He knelt by Keeler's chair, wrapping his arms around the slight body, hugging him close.

"Let it go, baby, let it fucking go. He wasn't alive, that was the machine they had him on, making his chest move, keeping him warm. Baby, he wasn't holding your hand, you were holding his. James was dead the moment he was shot. You didn't do anything but give his body peace." Keeler turned in the chair letting Sasha open his arms around him, pulling him close. He was panting now, unable to stop his grief from flooding out of him.

"I loved him so much," Keeler whispered sadly, "how am I supposed to live without him now? I don't know how to do that. I don't want to do that. This wasn't supposed to happen." Sasha held him, pulling him closer, rocking him, murmuring comfort he didn't know he was capable of.

Keeler let Sasha pick him up and carry him to the bed. Sasha scooted up to the headboard, pulling Keeler into his lap like a baby, rocking him again. Keeler wept out his loss, until he had nothing left, tears and snot trailing across Sasha's chest. They lay that way together for the longest time, eventually Keeler quieted and when he was just sighing, deep and long, Sasha wiped his face with the sheet.

"I helped you because of Ethan, for his sake. He would have expected me to. He was like that; he thought I was better than I am." Cain sat back, against the wall staring into the dim room. "It would have never worked with us; I'm way too fucked up. But for a while, for a little while, for the first time in my fucking horrible life, someone cared about me. He actually loved me, no matter how much of a selfish bastard I was to him."

Keeler wasn't sure if Cain was talking to him, or just talking but he listened as Cain rocked him, held tight his strong arms.

"I'm a fucking coward too. I should have told him how I felt, but I was afraid to. I was afraid he would laugh at me, that he would tell me I wasn't good enough for him, that he would..." Cain stopped, his emotions choking him.

Keeler stroked his arm, asking gently, "That he would what?"

Cain chewed the inside of his lips; swallowed his bitter fear. "I was afraid he wouldn't want me. Nobody ever did. I didn't know how trust him enough. I should have. He deserved better from me. It's just all fucked up now." Keeler let Cain hold him close, lowering his head to smell Keeler's hair every so often. Cain didn't cry, just rocked him, holding him close. After a while, his arms went slack, and Keeler could hear soft snores as Cain, exhausted, drifted into sleep. Keeler pulled Cain down until he was prone then wrapped himself around him to protect him while he slept. It wasn't too long before Keeler slept too.

Keeler woke first. Remembering whose bed he was in he leaned forward to kiss the back of Cain's neck, across his shoulders, down his spine. Little perfect kisses gently placed across the bones of Cain's back. Cain stirred but slept on. Keeler moved closer to him, reaching around to grasp Cain's cock, rubbing the soft pad of his hand over the head. Cain adjusted himself moaning a little. Then his eyes flew open and he grabbed Keeler's hand, pulled it away from his hardening cock. He turned over, holding Keeler's wrists, Keeler bright red with embarrassment.

"No, baby, we are not doing this."

Keeler looked up him, desperate in his need. "Please. I...I...it's been so long and I'm so cold. Please." Sasha shook off the pleading and got out of bed.

"No. It's not that my cock doesn't want to fuck you, baby, but we...I just can't. Out of respect for James and Ethan, I guess, but we just can't. You don't want me really, you want something, but it's not really me. It's just not good enough to fuck. We'll both feel like shit afterwards and I'm tired of feeling like shit. So no. I'm really sorry, baby, I really am. But no."

Keeler looked up at him, tearing up again, trying to catch his breath, snuffling a little. Then he reached out his hand. "I'm so sorry, I know that you're right, I really do, I'm sorry, I'm just so..."

Sasha crouched down by the side of the bed taking Keeler's outstretched hand, kissing the palm gently. "It won't always be like this. I promise. One day it just won't hurt so badly." Sasha brushed some wayward hairs out of Keeler's eyes. "It'll be alright. You'll be all right. James knew you're strong; he wouldn't have been attracted to you if you were some weak needy slut. He didn't like that."

Keeler sighed, "No, he didn't." Sasha stroked his cheek, wiping away the little tears.

"Hey, baby, did you ever get to meet his Aunt Mary? You should contact her. She loved James. She raised him like one of her own from when he was a small boy. She took him in after his folks were killed in a car accident. I think she would want to meet the person James loved with all his heart."

Keeler sniffed and swallowed. "Do you think so, really? Would she be ok with that?

"Yeah, she's a really good woman. She deserves to know that James found somebody worthy of him, not a fuck up like me."

Keeler wrinkled up his forehead, looking up at him. He took Cain's hand in his rubbing the knuckles gently with his fingertips. "You're not a bad man, Sasha. James told me that you had a good heart and it wasn't your fault you were so bitter. James said when you left him, he was sad for a very long time."

Cain snorted. "I didn't leave him, is that what he told you?"

"He said he came back from a visit home and you were gone; wouldn't take his calls after that. He wasn't sure what he did, but he figured you decided he wasn't right for you. He said he respected you enough to let you go."

"James respected me?" Cain snorted unbelieving, "He fucking left for three days and didn't tell me where he was going. I thought I fucked up enough that he wanted me gone but didn't have the balls to tell me to my face. So I left to make it easy for him."

Keeler still holding Cain's hand, still gently rubbing at the fingers, answered Sasha's disbelief. "James told me that he went back to get something from his Aunt, something she found in his parents things. Something he wanted to give you. When he got back and you were gone, he got really angry. He said you broke his heart. It took him a long time to get over it; he drank a lot and fucked around until he got this commission. Then he was assigned to me. He said I saved him." Keeler's voice had grown soft and wistful.

Sasha reached to run his fingers through Keeler's hair. "You did what you had to for James, baby."

Keeler scooted to the side of the bed, hanging his legs over the side. Sasha stood up and then sat down on the bed next to him, their shoulders touching. Keeler took his hand again and kissed it.

"He told me he was going to ask you to marry him, he went back for his parents' rings. That's what his aunt found in their things".

Sasha was silent as he ingested what Keeler was saying. He brought Keeler's hands up to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "Promise me you won't do something that would shame James, that you'll get help before you do something like that again."

Keeler rocked himself back and forth, trying to breathe and not cry again. "I'm not sure I can, I'm just so sad."

Cain pulled Keeler to him, put his hands on either side of his head and looked him straight in the eyes. "Baby, no one is ever going to remember James if you aren't alive to tell his story. He's just going to be another casualty of this fucked up war, and once the flags rise again, no one but his aunt will ever know that he was alive. When she's gone, then it's as if he never existed. As long as you are here, so is James."

When tears fell on Keeler's fingers, he opened his arms and wrapped them around Cain, stroking his ebony hair. Cain couldn't seem to find his hard resolve; the emotions he had drunk away overtook him relentlessly. He didn't like feeling so weak; it left him open for so much pain. But the edge of his control kept slipping from his fingers and Keeler's warmth was so seductive. He wanted to trust him to not hurt him, but Sasha had learned early in life that trust was always a mistake. Everyone he loved in his life had eventually turned their backs on him; his parents, his grandmother, James.

"I didn't know that's what he was doing but he didn't just leave, that's wrong, I lied. He told me he had something to do for a few days without me. I got scared. I got scared and ran away and I lost him. I got scared of Ethan and I lost him too. I'm just too fucked up for this shit." Cain shook his head trying to clear it, wiping away the tears that sabotaged his protection.

Cain tentatively leaned into Keeler's shoulder as Keeler soothed him, "You didn't lose Ethan any more than I lost James. Maybe it was just their destiny. Maybe they were only supposed to have a short time with us. I don't know, I don't understand anything either, but it must be. Maybe I was here to heal James's heart; maybe Ethan was here to unlock yours. Maybe it's just all unfair bullshit." Sasha sighed, as Keeler went on, "Maybe honoring Ethan means letting yourself love someone. You can't live all your life thinking you don't deserve to be loved, Sasha."

Keeler studied his hands, still rocking a little at Sasha's side. They sat, leaning into each other for the longest time then Sasha lifted Keeler's chin, rubbed his thumb over the thin lips and said. "Can I kiss you, baby?"

Keeler nodded and pushed his lips into the depths of Sasha. Sasha kissed him chastely at first then parted Keeler's lips with his tongue getting lost for a few seconds in his sweetness. They held each other there, lips on lips, tongues entwined, reaching beyond the physical to sooth over the white-hot ache inside both of them. When they broke apart, catching their breath, they just sat quiet again, shoulder to shoulder; lost inside their own memories.

"I heard the new navigators will be arriving tomorrow", Keeler said breaking their silence. "You'll be leaving the Sleipnir soon."

Sasha stood, stretched and reached down to take Keeler's hand. He pulled him up close to him as lovers would, comfortable in each other's space. "Yeah, I heard. Baby, are you going to be all right?" Keeler laid his head on Sasha's chest, swaying as if they were dancing.

"I guess I'm going to have to be." Sasha stroked his long blond mane of hair, falling down his back, lost in his thoughts, lost in the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Cain slouched against the hull of the Reliant watching the navigators as they disembarked from the transport ship. It had brought them straight from the Academy to the Sleipnir for their first assignments, all fresh faced and brimming over with excited chatter. Full of unbridled optimism that only comes from textbooks and simulators, not yet spoiled by the realities of fighting for your life. Many of them, now under Cook's command, would be paired with Bering's fighters. One of them belonged to him. Scouring the bustling sea of white, he searched.

He had easily broken into Bering's office spending some time going through the private personnel files before he found his navigator's file. Before he could commit most of it to memory he was discovered by Bering's flustered little assistant who shooed him out, scolding him about privacy and confidentiality and some other bullshit. He didn't really care who they put him with; he wouldn't be Abel, but Cain was naturally curious and determined that this time he would do things right. He would make sure this one knew his place.

The navigators congregated at the bottom of a ramp leading to Central. Lt. Keeler stood at the top of the ramp, waited until they noticed him then quieted down. Keeler quick stepped it to the bottom of the ramp, held their attention with some sort of navie meet and greet and then turned back up the ramp with the gaggle of navie geese following him. He had already mesmerized them, several of them blushing as he smiled at them. As Keeler passed where he leaned against the hull of the Reliant, Cain offered him a small salute that was rewarded with a tight little smile thrown his way, and then Keeler turned forward, all business.

It was then Cain saw him. Shorter than Abel was but not as skinny. His white uniform skimmed over fine little muscles moving under his skin. Cain's cock stirred with its approval, so maybe it was ok that he wasn't so skinny. White blond hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. Pretty face with cherry red lips. Suddenly he turned from the group and smiled up at Cain from across the room; surprising him. Then he turned back to follow Keeler. Cain watched as the pert ass turned away from him, hurrying to catch the others. Cain wondered what that ass would feel like up against his lower belly.

A couple of hours later, Cain found himself standing next to the navie in front of Bering's desk. "Cain this is your new navigator, task name..." Bering was droning; Cain was tuning him out. It didn't matter to him what the navie's name was, he had no intention of getting attached to him. While the new navie looked nothing like Abel, Cain mused that they all seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Pale, fair skin, hair so blond it was almost white, younger than Ethan, Cain thought. Those red lips caught up in a shy smile when Cain scowled down at him.

They stood at attention until Bering released them. Cain stalked out of the office towards the lift ahead of the navie, leaving him behind. The navie watched Cain storm off, then shouldered his kit and hurried to follow in his wake. They passed a group of fighters, one of who whistled suggestively low. Cain whirled around, red faced, glaring menacingly at the fighters as he began to stalk back. The navie turned to the group before Cain got there, smiled up at them.

"That's really sweet of you but I think you know who I belong to. Really, am I worth getting the crap beat out of you?" As Cain approached they sneered, laughing, "See ya round sweetie!" and hurried off the walkway. The navie blocked Cain's way saying calmly, "I took care of it."

Cain snorted, "Tch, promise them blow jobs later on, slut?"

The navie straightened his shoulders, "No, I told them they knew who I belonged to and they should consider if I'm worth having their asses handed to them."

Cain's eyes closed to slits and he peered down his nose at the navie. "Who said you're my bitch?"

He defiantly looked right back at Cain, "I'm not your bitch; I'm your navigator."

Cain bristled at what he heard as challenge, shot out his hand and caught the lithe navigator by the throat. The navigator never moved his eyes away and for several moments, they stood there, frozen.

Sasha's hair seemed to flutter by his ear. He felt a delicate breath blow across it; suddenly his nose was filled with the scent of jasmine. His eyes widened as he released his hold. The navie stood where Cain left him. Sasha looked wildly around then fixed his eyes on the navigator, frozen in place, looking at the floor, chewing his lower lip. Sasha leaned close and smelled his hair; it smelled clean, of plain soap. Nothing else. Fuck, Ethan just wasn't going to leave him alone. Cain let out a deep breath and tucked his hair behind his ear. He looked at the navie, still standing, still waiting.

Cain turned back towards the lift. As they waited for the lift, the navie quietly said, "I read the reports about you. They made me. They told me that I if I didn't want to be your navigator, they would find me another fighter."

"Are you expecting some sort of fucking pat on the back?" Cain barked out, pulling a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket and putting it in his mouth defiantly. The navigator shook his head, his soft blond hair seemed to catch a flow of air and move on its own. Sasha wanted to touch it.

"No, I just want you to know that I want to be your navigator. You're the best, you're a hero. I want to experience what its like to push myself to what you expect."

Cain turned, grasped his chin, forced it up, and snapped at him, "You fucking aren't Abel. Don't you ever fucking think you can replace him." The navie swallowed nervously but then mustered his resolve to stand firm against aggressive fighter who held him tightly, squeezing his face.

"Of course not. I will never disrespect you or your partner by ever thinking that. But I am good on my own, and I can be better with your help."

"Yeah sure you fucking can, whateverthefuck. " Cain muttered but dropped his hand. He turned his back to the navie, concentrating on the lift doors in front of them.

"What's your name, baby?" Cain was solicitous now.

"Matthew."

"I'm no fucking piece of cake, sweetheart. You have to earn the right to be my girlfriend."

Matthew was quiet as the lift doors opened then closed behind them, Cain touching the panel to their floor. Matthew allowed himself to wonder what being Cain's girlfriend might mean. They rode in silence until Cain's floor; Cain stomped out of the lift as soon as it opened. Matthew hurried to keep up.

Cain slammed the door panel, well ahead of Matthew and went straight to the kitchenette; pulled his bottle off the shelf above the sink and poured himself a shot. Matthew stepped through the open door and after surveying the room, set his pack down on one of the chairs and stood by it.

"There's only one bed." Matthew commented.

Cain smirked throwing back his shot.

"Tch, you're brilliant. Hope you have some lube in that pack of yours, otherwise..." Cain shrugged his shoulders at Matthew, and poured himself another.

Mathew sighed, moved his pack to the floor and then sat down on the chair.

"If you're going to rape me, can I have one of those?" he said eyeing Cain. Cain leaned back against the little counter and met Matthew's determined gaze. Matthew wasn't afraid of him; he was resigned but not arrogant. Cain pulled down the other shot glass, filled it with vodka and slammed it down in front of Matthew, then poured himself another.

Matthew downed the vodka all at once, grimacing when the burn hit the back of his throat then coughing when the fumes filled his sinuses. Cain laughed at him.

"Fucking pussy."

Matthew bent over trying to catch his breath. "Am not. That stuff's major foul." He coughed a little more and then held the shot glass up to Cain. "Another?" Cain snorted at him and poured them both another. This time it went down without choking but Matthew's eyes were watering by the time he finished. "Fuck, how do you drink that shit?"

Cain downed his, wiped the back of his hand then straddled the other chair and put the bottle between them. "Takes a man to handle his vodka, maybe we can find you a fruity drink in the Officer's mess." Matthew slid his glass over towards Cain.

Cain laughed at him again and poured another. "I'm not cleaning up your puke, baby. You fucking better be sure about this." Matthew smiled up at him with his ruby lips. Cain wondered what they would look like with his cock between them. Matthew threw it back, and Cain did the same; but when Cain lifted the bottle to pour another, Matthew covered his glass with his hand. "I'm done, you win."

"Were we having a fucking contest? Sweetheart, you were never going to win that one, they put this crap in our baby bottles in the colonies."

Matthew giggled. "I bet you were a cute baby."

Cain snorted vodka out his nose, viciously coughing. Matthew rose and started pounding him vigorously on the back until Cain grabbed his wrist, pulled it behind his back and twisted it roughly.

"Ooohhh, rough stuff, now that's hot," Matthew continued to giggle.

"How the fuck can you be this drunk after three shots?" Cain pulled his arm up higher so that Matthew stopped trying to slip out of his grasp.

"Hey, that hurts!"

"It's fucking supposed to. Stop fucking moving around." Cain growled at him and Matthew stuck out his lower lip.

"What the fuck is that?" Cain demanded.

"What the fuck is what?" Matthew got out before going limp; sliding out of Cain's hand and inelegantly fell to the floor. Cain let him go, stared down at Matthew's unconscious body, puzzled for a moment as to what had just happened then stepped over him on his way to the head.

The warm water felt soothing across Sasha's shoulders as he stood under the spray. He was not drunk enough to cry when the shower suddenly filled with the scent of Ethan's. He knew better than to look for him. He just closed his eyes, breathed it in deep and let the water pour out until it went cold. When he walked back into the room, Matthew was still unconscious where he fell, on the floor near the little table. Cain stepped over him, left him as he lay, crawled into the bed with his head still wet and pulled the covers up.

He barely felt the mattress compress when Matthew got into bed a few hours later; keeping his distance by lying on the side away from Cain. Somewhere in the night Matthew's shivering woke him, Cain had the blanket. Cain watched Matthew for a moment, his back to Cain, all curled up into himself, hands tucked under his arms for warmth. "Tch." Cain muttered as he reached over and covered him with the coverlet. Matthew stirred, turned over and looked up at Cain under the longest eyelashes Cain had ever seen.

"I'm the youngest son of eight brothers, the _only_ gay one. I've dealt with sadistic jerks all my fucking life." he sleepily whispered in the dark.

"Are you fucking saying I'm a sadistic jerk?"

"I'm saying you don't have to be with me. I'm not going to compete with you. I _will_ try my very best to be your navigator. I _will_ try my very best to be whatever you want me to be other than that," Matthew sincerely answered him back.

" _Sasha, was I for nothing?"_ Ethan's voice called to him.

Cain abruptly turned away from Matthew and settled back into the bed, not wanting Matthew to see his wet eyes. "Tch, fucking go to sleep, we've got early call."

Matthew stared at his back for a few seconds then settled back down to sleep. When Cain woke in the morning, the navie was in the head, he could hear the shower running. Cain sat up, grabbed his cigs out of the cubicle above his head and lit the first one of the day. In a few minutes the water was turned off. Cain listened to the sounds of Matthew towelling off and then brushing his teeth. He was still drying his hair when he left the head and went straight for the vent panel to flip it on. Cain whistled softly as Matthew bent over, towelling his hair dry.

"I thought that was going to be a sweet ass when it wiggled by me yesterday, baby."

Matthew straightened himself up and looked at Cain with a puzzled expression. "Does my ass wiggle?" Cain burst into laughter, and then started hacking to clear his lungs. "Those things will kill you, you know. They aren't good for you." This caused Cain to laugh more, coughing until he had to set the cig down for fear of dropping it. Matthew shook his head at him.

Sasha wasn't prepared for the sadness that started to grow when Keeler clandestinely pulled him into a small hallway as Bering's and Cook's teams were packing up to head home. Matthew was running through the flight check, and barely acknowledged Cain's absence.

Sasha held Keeler close to him and buried his face in his hair. Keeler had started with a small quiver in his voice but quickly dissolved into uncontrolled weeping. Sasha pushed him back holding him by his skinny forearms, admonishing him, "Baby, you have to stop that shit. You'll be ok. Now you get it together so you can present yourself to your troops like a man. James would expect that of you... so do I."

Keeler hugged him back to him. "Thank you. I can't tell you what..."

Sasha kissed the top of his blond hair. "Fuck, I know, you don't have to say anything."

Keeler rubbed at his eyes and snuffled, "I wish things were different."

Sasha reached out and stroked his face, drying the tears. "Yeah, baby, me too, but they aren't and that's just the way it is." He hugged Keeler close again and then released him, pushing him away with a pat on his ass. "You say hi for me when you see Aunt Mary."

Keeler turned, smiled up at him, straightened his uniform and wiped off his face, "I will, Sasha, I will. You take care; safe flight home. "

The trip back seemed to take forever but for what it was worth, Cain was happy to be back on board his own ship. It was as much home as anything else was and he was just relieved to be off the ship of ghosts that the Sleipnir had become.

They were assigned new quarters and his possessions had thankfully been moved into them before they landed. As Sasha stood in the doorway he could see that the room looked nothing like where he had come to love Ethan. Dropping his pack inside the door, he went to the bed at the far end of the room, sat down and scooted up to the wall. He shook out a cigarette, lit it with a snap of his lighter; the smoke floating lazily to the ceiling.

Matthew flicked on the vent, picked up Cain's pack and brought both of them with him into the room. He threw his on the other bed, walking the small space between them to the dresser and began to unpack the bag.

"You don't have to fucking do that." Cain was laying back with his eyes closed, blowing smoke upwards now sucked out by the vent. Matthew ignored him and neatly folded the clothes into the top drawer, then pulled out Cain's tack and took it into the head. Then he did the same with his things. Their uniforms and flight suits would be delivered to them later, so when he was done he threw the two packs into the small closet and went back to sit on his own bed.

"Will you show me around later?" He quietly asked.

Cain lazily opened one of his eyes and snorted, "You need a fucking babysitter?"

Matthew swallowed nervously, suddenly unsure, "No, I just thought you might want to show me where the mess is."

Cain ground out his cig on the wall and turned away from Matthew pulling the coverlet over his shoulder.

"I'll find it. Do you want me to bring you something?" He said quietly. Cain ignored him for a few minutes then turned back over and patted the bed next to him. Matthew sat then moved closer when Cain reached out to him and rubbed his thigh.

"I need some time."

"Yes of course," Matthew answered quietly. "I'm going exploring so I know where to go tomorrow and I might go work out. I'll be back later." Matthew stood and grabbed his jacket from his bed.

Cain settled in, not sure what to do with all the new feelings that were churning in his gut. Being decent to Matthew somehow felt like cheating.

In the dream, he was walking on a white beach hand in hand with Ethan. The water was cerulean, so crystal clear at that you could see to the bottom. The sun was warm, almost hot. Ethan had a hat on, some white gunk covering his nose. Sasha was barefoot; he could feel the warm sand cushioning his feet as they just walked silently along the beach. Ethan drew him out to the water, where they stood, looking out to the lagoon and the ocean beyond. Where the water met the sky, it looked like it just rolled over the edge of the earth and there was nothing beyond.

"Why are we here, princess?" Sasha tugged on his hand but Ethan didn't turn to him but instead looked up to the sky, his hat falling off his head, his white blond hair shimmering like spun gold in the sunlight.

"I want to tell you something."

Ethan's voice sounded like bells. Sasha pulled him into his arms, wrapping them around his waist from behind, laying his fingers on Ethan's flat stomach, putting his face in Ethan's spine, breathing him in, trying to find his scent, but it was washed clean and Ethan didn't smell like Ethan any longer.

"I don't want to do this, baby." Sasha held him tighter, letting his hands drop down the front of Ethan's trunks, curling the fine hairs on his lower belly in his fingers. Ethan put his hands on top of Sasha's and leaned back into him.

"I have to go, and I want to tell you something. You have to listen to me now, Sasha; I don't have a lot of time." Sasha loosened his hold and rested his forehead on Ethan's back, hot tears already spilling over.

"I love you Ethan. Please don't leave me." Pleading, Sasha whispered, "Please."

Ethan loosened out of Sasha's arms and turned to face him. His face was so bright that Sasha had to look away, white light masked Ethan fine skin, his pink little boy cheeks and his thin lips. "You know I can't stay," Ethan's voice filled his head, ringing like little bells in his ears. "Sasha, I know, I know that you love me. I want you to know I knew from the moment you first bit me, from the first time you kissed me, from the first time you held me down and gave your cock to me. I knew when you were angry with me and I knew when you protected me. I knew. I know."

Sasha fell to his knees in the sand, the sun was setting, the sunset was blinding, orange, purple, gold and white and Ethan was far down the beach walking away from him. "Wait! Wait!" he called. Sasha's legs would not hold him; they slid underneath him and wouldn't support his weight. Falling forward in the water, he could only keep himself out of it, but couldn't rise. His heart was being crushed, he felt like someone had reached into his chest and was wadding it up like paper to be thrown away. He couldn't cry, but panted, not able to catch his breath as he lost sight of Ethan.

"Cain? Are you awake? I brought you some coffee," the voice calling him sounded like bells and he didn't fight his eyelids opening slowly adjusting to the soft light coming from the other side of the room. For a moment he was confused by the blond haired navie fussing with a cup on the dresser by his bed. He could smell the strong coffee and something else, something new.

"You take sugar right?"

Then he remembered it was Matthew. "Yeah. Sugar."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hey, you. They want us for pictures now. Come on inside."

Sasha was sitting on top of the porch railing, champagne glass in hand, staring up at the stars hanging heavy and glimmering above them. So close that it seemed you could reach out and touch them. In one hand he held the little bag of Ethan, glistening in the starlight. He didn't stir at Matthew's gentle calling, but took another drink out of his glass. Matthew waited for him, patiently in the open doorway, the chatter of the roomful of guests behind him. Sasha sighed and looked back over his shoulder and smiled wistfully at Matthew.

"Come over here, baby," he said quietly as he dropped his left arm and wiggled his fingers. Matthew came, letting Sasha pull him close, with his arm around Matthew's waist. They stayed that way for the longest time, Sasha balancing on the railing, arm around Matthew, holding him tight. "Its weird you know, being here, being so _normal_. I keep thinking of what happened up there, and wonder if they are all fucking part of those stars. Just up there lighting up the sky."

Sasha lifted his glass and drank, then held the glass to Matthew's ruby red lips and let him drink the rest of what was left. Matthew looked up at Sasha's dark eyes as they found their way back to the lights above. He laid his head against Sasha's chest and placed his hand over Sasha's, squeezing it.

"I love you." he whispered. Sasha turned and kissed the top of his head. "I have no idea why," he whispered back. "But I'm really fucking glad you do, baby."

"Boys! Keeler and his General can't cut the cake until the pictures get done so get your pretty asses back in here!" Female laughter came booming out of the house, calling them inside. "Oh great, now you got us in trouble with Aunt Mary!" Matthew giggled and tugged on Sasha's hand, pulling him firmly off the rail, holding it tight as Sasha climbed down. Sasha paused to look into Matthew's eyes as if he suddenly could see him clearly all the way to the depth of Matthew. Then he closed his eyes, turned back to the porch rail and flung the ruby crystals that was once Ethan, out into the night, up towards the stars.

"Be right there!" Matthew called out, then was cut off as Sasha pulled him close and pressed into his lips, licking around the edges with his tongue. "Wait," he breathed into Matthews's soft mouth.

Matthew melted in the hot flush of Sasha; letting him open him, letting him taste him. "Mmmm." Matthews's body was awash with tiny pinpricks of fire, Sasha's fire. "I want to fuck you," Sasha mouthed as his lips fell to Matthews's throat, the sharp edges of his teeth raking down the length of it. Matthew responded by wrapping his arms around Sasha's neck, on tip toes to reach his mouth. "Later. All night if you want; whatever you want. You know I want whatever you want." Sasha pulled him tighter, bent his face to Matthew hair and tongued the shell of his ear. "I want you to marry me." he froze as Sasha cupped his face. "I mean it; I want you to marry me." Matthew laid his head on Sasha's chest, silent until all he could hear the pounding of Sasha's heart, the air around them suddenly filled with the scent of jasmine.


End file.
